Game of Shadows (19 page)

With only one clear path to take, Sean crept up the rocky path, keeping low and against the wall as he moved silently in the cavern's shadows. He kept his eyes on the nearest guard, making sure that his movements didn't arouse any suspicion. It took Sean less than a minute to arrive at the thin metal rods holding up the metal grating above. Now that he was closer, he could see there was a gap of about two feet between the end of the catwalk and the boxes he'd noticed from below. He hated to rely on lucky things like that, but sometimes it was better to have a little luck on your side than to just be good.

The guard above hadn't seen Sean's approach, as he was monotonously strolling to the far end of the catwalk and back. Sean ducked behind a protruding rock formation and remained there until he could hear the tapping of the guard's boots on the metal grate above, signaling he had looped back to this side. Sean stared up through the steel patchwork as the guard spun around, loosely carrying his weapon against his hip, and headed back in the direction he'd come.

Sean wasted no time. He popped out of his hiding place and began to climb. He gripped the support rods tight as he climbed, careful to make sure his wet shoes didn't slip on the slick surface. He reached the top railing and crawled through just as the guard pivoted around at the other end and started back again. Sean ducked behind the two-high stack of crates and remained hidden. He pulled the knife from its sheath, careful not to make a sound. A quick plan formulated in Sean's head as he listened for the footsteps. Once again, the man's boots belied his approach.

The tapping grew louder and louder until it stopped. Sean knew the man was spinning around to head back the other way. It was the split-second window he needed. Sean deftly crept out from behind the boxes and wrapped his forearm around the man's face, closing off his mouth tightly. The other hand brought the hunting knife up quickly through the back of the guard's neck at the base of his skull, killing him instantly. The body tensed for a second and then went limp. Sean withdrew the blade and let the man crumple to the catwalk. Sean wasted no time. He grabbed the submachine gun from the dead man's arm and wrapped the sling around his biceps. He wiped the blood off the knife on the back of the man's shirt before placing it back in its sheath.

Keeping low, Sean inched his way across the scaffolding, pressing against the wall to stay as much out of sight as possible. When he reached the other end, he was able to see what he couldn't from the other side of the cavern.

Admiral McClain was standing next to a woman. She had short dark hair that stopped at the tops of her ears. Her skin was pale and her nose pointed, matching her sharp chin. Two more armed guards stood behind her with weapons ready, hanging at belt level.

Sean's instincts caused him to inventory the situation rapidly. Three guards on the catwalk across the way, two down below, along with McClain, and the woman he assumed to be Dr. Ott. Even as a plan of attack began to formulate in his mind, he couldn't help but be distracted by the object Dr. Ott was examining: an eight-foot-tall and six-foot-wide metal object in the shape of an enormous bell with various cords running from connecting points to odd-looking batteries on the floor.

They'd found
die Glocke.

San Sebastián, Argentina

Sean's eyes moved deliberately from the three men on the other catwalk to those on the ground. There was no clear path now. Any move he made would risk putting him out in the open. He was close enough to maybe take out the two guards near Ott. But by the time he did, assuming he didn't miss, the three on the other catwalk would fire on his position, and he would be a sitting duck with no cover. The other possibility was that he could accidentally hit Dr. Ott. Too many cons overruled the pros, and he abandoned the idea of a frontal assault. His attention shifted to the nose of the submarine and trailed over to the tower, just beyond the huge cannon on the deck. 

If he could make it across the deck to the tower, he would have a clear line of sight to the other catwalk, and the position would effectively turn the docking area where McClain and the others were into a kill box. There were several other crates lying around that the men below could use for cover, but at least he would have the high ground.

The trick would be getting over there without being noticed. And then there was the problem of the guard atop the tower. As long as he didn't look in his direction, Sean would be fine.

He looped his arm through the Heckler & Koch's sling and let it dangle from his shoulder. As quietly as possible, he pressed low to the metal grating and belly crawled over to the edge, letting his feet go over first and then slowly lowering himself down until he was hanging a few feet above the U-boat's nose. There wasn't a second to reconsider. He was committed now. Sean let go of the catwalk's edge and dropped the remaining distance to the submarine's stern. His shoes made a low thud when they hit the metal, and Sean instantly pressed himself down, inching his way out of the line of sight of the main group of guards. The groan of the generator had muted his landing, and no one appeared to notice as he slid into the shadow of the lights on the far side of the submarine.

A quick glance to his right revealed that the guard atop the tower was still staring down at the bell and whatever it was that McClain was forcing Dr. Ott to do. He'd not been spotted. Not yet anyway. If he delayed, however, that could change.

Sean crawled on his elbows, pulling himself along the surface of the submarine until he reached the gun deck where a small platform's coping gave him enough cover that he could go unseen from the rest of McClain's crew as he made his way to the tower.

He kept going, faster now that he knew he was out of sight. He reached the rear of the tower and waited for thirty seconds, catching his breath and trying to assess the best plan of attack. His respite was short lived. He heard the boots of the man above tapping on the tower roof as he changed position and moved over to the side where Sean was hiding. If the guy looked down, he was done. Sean kept his back pressed against the tower's sidewall and waited. He stared straight up, just in case. The platform above him was only a few feet above his head, well within his jumping capability.

His muscles tensed, ready for action. He had two options now. Take the tower and resume plan A, or plan B: dive into the water and make a run for it. Sean knew the latter wouldn't get him far.

The guard above spat over the side of the railing, sending a tobacco driven brown glob of saliva to the edge of the gun deck off to Sean's right. A second later, the man turned around to return to his previous spot on the other side. Time to move.

Sean turned, bent his knees, and jumped hard. His fingers caught the top edge of the tower, and he pulled up, quickly reaching his right hand higher to grab onto the more grip-friendly railing. Once he had that, he put his other hand up and clasped it. He performed a fast chin-up and swiftly brought his legs and torso through the gap between the upper and lower rails. As he did so, the submachine gun hanging from his shoulder clanked against the bottom rail.

The guard's head twitched at the noise, and he spun around, alert to the danger. Sean had already removed the knife from his belt and took a huge step across the tower deck. The guard whipped his weapon around, ready to fire, but it was too late. Sean swiped the sharp edge of the blade across his throat, opening the skin and slicing the carotid artery. The guard's immediate reaction was to grab at the wound with his free hand. His lifeblood spurted through his fingers and down his arm. His last desperate act was to take out the one who'd killed him. As he dropped to his knees, the guard attempted to aim his weapon and fire, but Sean knocked it aside, spun around, and drove the knife into the man's chest, piercing his heart.

He yanked the blade free and watched the man fall prostrate to the surface. Voices suddenly began shouting from the other catwalk. One of the guards had seen the kill and was drawing attention to the threat. Sean clutched the back of the dead man's wet suit and jerked him up, propping him against the starboard side of the railing to give him a human shield.

Right on cue, the other guards opened fire, riddling their former comrade's body with hot lead. Some of the rounds pinged off the tower deck and railing, sending sparks flying as the bullets ricocheted into the far reaches of the cavern.

Sean took a step back and grabbed the wheel on the hatch. He leaned into it hard and twisted the mechanism, spinning it freely once he'd loosened it. After a few seconds, the wheel stopped, and he tugged the hatch open. The circular hatch provided cover — and not a moment too soon, as the dead man's bloody body fell from the rail to the deck.

The rattling of the enemy guns continued. Sean stayed tucked behind the hatch as the hot rounds plunked harmlessly off the hard steel. He peeked around the edge and loosed a volley at the closest guard. While the HK submachine gun wasn't superaccurate from that range, its volume made up for its lack of precision. Three of the bullets he fired struck the target, one in the gut and two in the chest. He wobbled for a moment before falling over the railing to the dock below.

The other two guards split up in an attempt to flank Sean from either side, hoping to get a clear shooting angle around the hatch. He only had seconds before the guards below took up positions on the other catwalk. Then there would be multiple clear shots. He had to take out the head for the snake's body to die.

Risking a look over the top of the hatch, he removed his Springfield from its holster on his belt and took aim. His sights searched the dock until he found who he was looking for. There was just one problem. His target wasn't playing nice.

Admiral McClain stood in the open next to a stack of wooden crates. He had one arm wrapped around Dr. Ott's neck, while his other hand pressed a Glock to her temple.

"Drop the weapon, Sean, or I will kill her right now."

Sean froze, exposed to the two men on the catwalk and the one below. The second guard on the deck was creeping up the metal stairs to flank the threat from the left side.

"Let her go, McClain." He shouted the order but knew it carried no weight. His opponent had the advantage.

McClain stared through him, unbending. "I'm not going to play the whole count to three thing, Sean. Lower your weapon, or I kill the girl."

"You won't kill her," Sean said, hoping he was right. "You need her alive."

"Sure I do. With her alive, I could probably get this contraption working and sell it for more money. But as is, I still stand to make more than I ever dreamed. Some crackpot out there with billions to throw away will buy it. I'd rather make more money, obviously. You kill me, though, my men will kill her and you."

The man creeping up the stairs had reached his position and took aim at Sean from the flank. Sean knew as soon as he pulled the trigger, that man would fire and take him out. The next bullets would be for Dr. Ott. There was no winning play here. The second Sean lowered his weapon, he would be cut down, but perhaps that would buy Dr. Ott a little more time.

Inch by inch, his hands began to lower his weapon until it was by his waist. His fingers let go of the pistol, and it fell to the deck with clank. "Fine, Admiral. You win."

The older man laughed. "Of course I do. I have the ace in the hole."

Dr. Ott's hand behind her back whipped around and extended toward Sean. She was holding a pistol of her own. McClain released her and took a step to the side. Sean's face contorted in confusion, but he put everything together in seconds.

"We appreciate your help in finding my grandfather's work, Sean," she said, her accent leaning more toward the German than French side of Swiss.

"You were never kidnapped. All of this was just a game to get me to find your grandfather's device. Why? So you can cash in with the admiral, here?"

Emboldened, she took a step forward, still brandishing the weapon menacingly. "My grandfather worked hard on this. Why should I not get paid? He endured torture. Some of his family members were executed. My own father spent years of his life trying to find this. I owe it to myself and my family to reap the rewards of their labor."

Sean snickered, his hands still hanging at his sides. As he laughed, his eyes caught a glimpse of hope. He was standing over the open hatch. It was his only chance for escape. "So because you feel entitled, it's okay for you to kill innocent people? Wolfz? Steiner? How many others?"

"Wolfz was a Nazi like his father, and Steiner was an old man. No one will miss either of them."

"Oh, so you're God now?" Sean's left foot shimmied closer to the hatch's rim a millimeter at a time so that no one would notice.

She laughed at him. "No, Mr. Wyatt. I am not God. But at least now I will have as much money as him. For what it's worth, I appreciate you trying to save me." The dark eyes behind her glasses narrowed, and the fingers on her weapon tensed.

Sean jumped over the lip of the hatch and dropped through the hole just as she fired the pistol. Her weapon's report was joined by others as the rest of the mercenaries opened fire on the now-vacant tower deck.

The fall to the submarine's bridge was a good ten feet, but Sean caught himself on the ladder on the way down, halting his momentum. He climbed the last four feet to the bottom and looked around. Wheels, gauges, pipes, and a slew of other controls Sean didn't recognize encircled the room. The bridge smelled like a museum, and the musty scent of time filled his nostrils. He drew the .22 from his belt and looked up the chute to the top of the hatch. They wouldn't be stupid enough to come for him. Each person that appeared at the top of the hatch would be easy pickings.

"You can't stay in there forever," McClain shouted once firing had ceased. "Eventually, you're going to have to come out."

Sean had considered the possibility that the enemies could have been carrying grenades or some other kinds of explosives. McClain's warning belied the fact that they had no such ordinance, and thus, would have to wait it out as well. Still, if things became a stalemate, it would only be a matter of time. McClain's men could stand watch in shifts until Sean fell asleep or decided to come out. Once that happened, he would be cut down like a rabid animal.

He cursed himself for not seeing the obvious. Or was it that obvious? The circumstances surrounding Dr. Ott's disappearance did seem strange. No one had seen her taken from the lab, something he attributed to her probably working late when no one else would be around. Now it all made sense. There were no witnesses because the abduction had never happened. Dr. Ott had organized the entire thing. She'd found a powerful man with the U.S. government who was bitter enough at his career and compensation that he'd happily join forces in order to make the fortune he felt he so desperately deserved.

It was too late to change any of that. Sean made a habit of not letting himself regret too much for too long. What was in the past was in the past. All he could do now was control the moment.

His eyes flashed around the control room. He didn't know much about submarines, much less World War II era U-boat technology. Down one end, toward the front of the sub, was the torpedo room. Two massive cylinders equipped with propellers on the end hung ready for loading. His gaze shifted to the rear of the ship where the engine room was located.

A wild idea began to piece itself together in his head. Sean told himself there was no way it could work, but that didn't matter. He had no other play. And at the very least, he would make sure McClain and the rest of his band didn't escape.